Buffy was now trying to figure out what crazy truck these two may have fallen from, but kept her mouth shut for the time being. (Who named their rubber chickens?) She was sure she could take them in a fight (overconfident much?) but that Harley woman could have more explosives on her. A concussion Buffy could deal with. Having her parts splattered across the lawn not so much. "You have to admit the green get up makes the kind of fashion statement that says, 'My tights are at the dry cleaners'."
Her sword still in hand, the petite blonde wandered a little closer to the guy. "But, I do have to say, that's a nice crossbow you've got there." It really was nice. Heck, both of them apparently had fun toys that made Buffy slightly envious. She hadn't cared much for the gun, she was kind of old school that way, but the explosives were a little fun if unorthodox. She cast a glance at Harley and shrugged. "You didn't catch my name because I didn't throw it yet, but do me a favor and please stop with calling me 'Perky'." She'd take being called blondie over Perky any day. "The name is Buffy and I think that's more than enough, don't you?"
Maybe it was the nickname of Perky getting on her nerves already but it was more than likely the fact she was starting to feel grumpy thanks to her head, which was currently beating like a drum solo at a bad rock concert. "So who exactly is your tailor, Robin? Maid Marion during her leather fetish phase?" Was it just her or was the world starting to get a little wobbly? Considering she was starting to sway a bit on her feet it was likely her. "Oh, this is going to be fun."
She wasn't losing consciousness, but she was sliding to the ground. One slayer going down.